The Meeting
by Geoduck
Summary: At an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, a father shares the story of how he let his child leave home. Monologue fic.


"My name is Haruhiko Uotani, and I'm an alcoholic. I've been sober for two years, ten months, and eight days."

"I... I..."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to pause like that. It's just that I can't quite find the words to say what I'm thinking."

"It's been a hard week. There were a few times—a lot of times—I really wanted to start drinking and not stop. Ever."

"Back, years ago, when I was still married, it didnt even occur to me that I was an alcoholic. I drank every night after work, but that was work, you know? Everybody did it, and if you didn't do it, it could be hard for you on the job. It's kind of suspicious when one guy refuses to socialize with his colleagues."

"Then I drank on the weekends because... it was the weekend."

"It got harder and harder to wake up in the morning, so I used to take a quick glass as a pick-me-up. 'Hair of the dog that bit you', you know."

"Then one night I came home to an empty bedroom. Not that I noticed right then... I was completely blitzed."

It wasn't until the next morning that I found her note. And I didn't go to work that day. Or the next. Or a whole lot more 'nexts'."

"I was really bitter about it then. On bad days, I'm still a little bitter about it. But when I think about it rationally—she had a worthless bum of a husband and a juvenile delinquent daughter. So she got the hell out of there. Can't blame her for that. Well, maybe I can, but I probably shouldn't, at least."

"I sometimes wonder why Arisa—that's my daughter—didn't leave too. Not that I would ever have noticed. But in those days, I didn't stop her from going out and coming in at any hour of the day or night. I never asked her questions, scolded her, or lectured her on her behavior. Not even when she came in with scrapes and bruises, and flecks of blood on her clothes."

"I wish I could say I accepted her out of pure unconditional love, but let's face it, it was only drunken apathy."

"I never knew she was in trouble. And considering how I was at the time, I probably wouldn't have cared, even if I had known."

"Arisa—my little girl—she could have been killed, and I... and I..."

"Sorry about this... let me get ahold of myself."

"I completely failed as a parent. But thank god, she had friends. The kind of friends who helped pull herself away from the gangs she ran around with. The kind of friends who gave her enough strength to save me."

"She was the one who got me to a doctor. She was the one who first brought me to this meeting. And she was the one who helped me to want to live."

"Dropping the booze, I did it for her. Getting off unemployment... even eating healthier. It's all for her."

"So, last month, she drops the bomb on me. She tells me she's leaving. She and her boyfriend."

"This is how bad I am at noticing things. I didn't even realize she had a boyfriend."

"When she told me that, I couldn't say a word. I couldn't even move. All I heard was my breathing and my heart beating."

"I felt like I was no longer in control of my senses. I watched myself ask Arisa why she had to leave... couldn't her boyfriend move in instead? It might be a little crowded, but we could look for a bigger place."

"She stops me. 'No', she says. 'We have to move away from here.'"

"'Why?' is all I can ask."

"She tells me that Sohma—that's his name—has always lived for his family, never for himself. That he needs to get away—and that she needs to go with him."

"Part of me wants to beg her to stay, or to take me with them. To cry that she can't leave, that if she's gone, I'll have nothing left."

"But I don't say anything. I nod, and ask if she needs any money, any help, anything."

"She just smiles and says no."

"I don't sleep at all that night. I keep picturing the future: I go to work, I go home. What for? I live, I work, I grow older, I die."

"The next few weeks, I try to put it out of my mind. I can't really forget, but I can pretend that I do."

"Then it gets impossible to ignore. I see signs of Arisa packing and cleaning up. Saying goodbye to people in the neighborhood."

"One night, she invites me out to a restaurant. It's a gathering of her closest friends. Most of them just graduated, so a lot of them are leaving home too."

"I meet Sohma. He seems nice, a little spacey. He's taller than me. I wonder exactly how old he is, because he certainly doesn't look like a recent graduate."

"A girl sitting next to me—I recognize her as one of Arisa's friends—glances at me from the corner of her eye every once in awhile. She seems to be the worrying type."

"At one point, Arisa went to the restroom, and the girl whispers to me—she leans over and whispers 'If you don't want her to leave—tell her. She'll—she'll stay with you if you really need her.' Then she quickly straightens up and blushes, like she did something wrong."

"I sit there, stunned. Is it true? Would she really do that for me?"

"And finally, the answer comes to me, as clear as water. I failed in raising her, and I failed in saving her, but I can do this one thing for her—I can let her go, and stand on my own."

"That's it. That's the answer. Despite everything, I can almost laugh."

"That night, after we got home, she gets her bags ready to leave—their train departs in the morning."

"For the first time, I realize she isn't as self-assured and confident as I always thought of her. I see an insecure, almost terrified little girl trying desperately to be a grown woman."

"'Arisa', I say. She looks at me, afraid of what I'm going to ask, afraid that she won't be able to say no to her father."

"I pull her into my arms and hold her. 'Be happy. Be safe. I love you.' She starts crying, and I want to as well, but can't. Not until she goes to bed, that is."

"When she leaves the next morning, there aren't any more tears, only smiles, although both of us have swollen, red eyes. I give her a phone card, and make sure she knows I expect calls from her."

"And she's gone."

"But that confident feeling that allowed me to let her go—that feeling that life isn't ending, that this is just another challenge—it's slipping away from me. I had forgotten how empty an apartment can be with just one person living there."

"I feel weak. And I know that I'm already powerless over alcohol, so I'm afraid..."

"...just a second. I thought I turned my cell phone of. Sorry about this, everyone. Now who could this be...?"

"..."

"You'll have to excuse me, everyone, but I really need to take this call. I think I will be strong enough for another week after all."

"Hello, Arisa?"

* * *

Author's notes:

I've never seen a fic about Uo-chan's father before. In fact, the only times I've seen him mentioned in fanfic are as an abusive, alcoholic father. This is rather unfair to him. Yes, he is an alcoholic (as far as we can tell from the manga, a recovering one), but there is no evidence to suggest that he ever abused his wife or daughter.

I got to thinking about he will react when his daughter leaves home. It seemed to me that a confessional monologue was the best way to tell that story.

I hope you enjoyed reading it.


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